


stella maris

by ptolemaique



Series: overhead the moon sits arbitress. [Black Flag x Reader collection] [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Astrology, Constellations, Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Reader, Late Night Conversations, Looking at the moon, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Relationship, Stargazing, Supernatural Elements, accurate star placement, accurately named ship architecture, blackbeard is actually a big softie, i just love pirates man idk what else this was for, possibly..., that's for me to know and you to interpret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26391718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptolemaique/pseuds/ptolemaique
Summary: "she hydeth the hugenesse of her quantite for unmovablenes of her place, and she doth cerfifie men moste certenly, that beholde and take hede therof; and therfore she is called stella maris, the starre of the see, for she ledeth in the see men that saylle and have shyppemannes crafte." - bartholomeus anglicus (translated 1397)stella maris, or, blackbeard knows where the north star is
Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Reader
Series: overhead the moon sits arbitress. [Black Flag x Reader collection] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919557
Kudos: 7





	stella maris

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhh me love pyrate..

A warm Caribbean breeze wraps itself around you as you wander along the quarterdeck of the Queen Anne’s Revenge. Alone, blissfully so, apart from the one or two crewmen on patrol that evening, the usually rowdy – if not chaotic – vessel lay calm and still under the stars. It must have been late. Below deck, the light from the crew’s quarters had been dimmed, and you could only hear the soft lap of gentle waves striking the stern. 

_This was what this life was all about_ , you decided. No more could you see the soft flares of torches along the beaches of New Providence, the island you had learned to call home. The only sources of light this hour or so away South of the shore were those of the stars and of the full moon, doubled in beauty by her reflection on the sea. This rare moment of peace was another of a very small few like it in your years in the West Indies. It was so peaceful, in fact, that you had managed (among all this silence, no less,) to miss the thudding of leather boots against the hard wood of the deck, and the light clacking of four pistols hitting each other as your host approached you in the dark. 

He clears his throat as he takes a place next to you, leaning over the side of the ship almost dangerously, at a distance someone from even the most civilised of societies would have called beyond appropriate. You give Captain Thatch another smile of many you had offered him before when he joins you before turning back to your oldest companions above. 

It is not you who breaks this second comfortable silence. “D’ya know em, lass?” He looks frightening, as always, but there is a curiosity in his eyes when he turns to ask you that you understand is seen by only a handful of people. It is a calm curiosity, _thank God_ , and fitting for the moment. Your mind is eased that he is in one of his benevolent moods upon seeing you unaccompanied at night, rather than enraged as one would expect. 

“The stars?” He hums an affirmative, pushing you to continue. “Aye. Learned em when I first moved out here. I supposed I’d ought to make myself useful, were I ever to be stolen away by a dashing privateer, or another one of you sailing types.” You pull your lips back in a smirk, the type he’d have called soft, sweet, even, had he not seen the same mischievous look on Kenway’s face many a time, as you let another moment pass without a word. “I must admit, Captain, that you weren’t exactly who I had in mind when I dreamed up this venture.” 

He barks out a laugh and clutches his jacket, above his heart, with his hands tanned from years of work under a hot sun. “You wound me! Remember, I can still maroon ya whenever it takes my likin’.” 

You laugh in kind while considering how veiled that threat was meant to be. It may have been hidden behind good humour, but you have never known Thatch to lie to anyone, especially about something so grave. The thought of him leaving you on an uncharted island is enough to make you shiver as the breeze cools, but the act of being a sea-hardened lady must be left unbroken. Any smile you could catch in his eyes was hidden away by the growing patch of night he kept on his face. 

“D’you have your spyglass, Captain?” 

“Aye.” He takes a moment to rummage around for it in one of the many pockets of his coat, frowning at the unexpected request. The metal casing is cold in your hands when you pull his telescope to its full length. “Can ye not just use yer eyes?” 

“I can,” you respond, careening back to get a better view of the stars, “but the ease a scope offers is a rare treat. Makes it all the easier to see the spots on the moon.” He offers you a muted huff of breath from his nose in response. “Do you know any, Captain?” 

“By necessity.” You leave him in silence to elaborate and he walks portside. A sigh escapes your lips – your first private conversation with Thatch and he leaves you at the first opportunity he gets. Quiet returns. You jump with fright when, finally, he calls out - “Can see the North Star from over ‘ere.” 

Regaining your composure, you go to stand next to him. He’s right, of course, Ursa Minor stares back at you clear as day in the dark sky, with the pole star at her tail, as Thatch points a long arm just above the horizon. 

“Very good, Captain,” you applaud. Were you as brave a woman as you wanted to be, you’d have patted him on the shoulder as you had seen others do at the Old Avery. They were captains, mostly. But you were no pirate. So, this courage did not appear. 

“Big Dipper’s righ’ above us, too.” He speaks in nothing louder than a whisper, in a way that is almost caring, almost intimate in its softness and privacy, that you would not have heard it were you standing a proper distance apart, both of you leaning back to see the constellation over your heads. On the hard boards of the quarterdeck, just as your courage had faltered, so too did your ankle. Thatch’s hands, catlike in their agility, rushed to catch you, even though your fall was truly more of a falter. They were large, unexpectedly warm, splayed out on your back and at your waist, but (much to your amazement) didn’t stray anywhere improper. 

He lets go of you as soon as you recover your footing, and something in you misses the protection his touch offered, however fleeting it may have been. When you made to thank him, the words caught in your throat. He smiles, only for a moment or two – you can see it in the way his eyes shine, rather than through his muzzle – and says nothing else of it. 

The chill of a cold sea breeze hits you, and, _finally_ , says your common sense, you offer up something in the way of a farewell. “It’s late.” 

No matter how hard you look for them, the other words you had planned to add had all vanished from your mind at once as he turned to look at you, almost disappointed at your departure. His eyes bored into your own before he sighed and turned back to the horizon before him. 

“Aye,” he finally responds, just as curtly. A less comfortable silence falls upon the pair of you now. “P’raps the lady should head to her quarters, ‘fore you catch yer death out here.” 

There’s something uncomfortable, detached, even, about the way he speaks. “I suppose you’re right, Captain Thatch.” After offering him a nod to bid him good night, you stopped at the top of the stairs leading to the deck and turned back to see him, his black leather coat and mane of hair coated in the white light of the moon that was so contrary to the rest of him, and called out – “You know you can call me by my first name, Captain. Even if tis only in private.” 

When he looks at you this second time, intimate and playfully, his eyes great, deep pools holding the light of the stars in his gaze, he is curious again. His lips are pulled into a smirk, you can see his teeth flash when he makes to speak. “I’d ‘ave to know yer name first, lass.” You cringed. It was stupid of you to not have told him it before, but when your name rolls from his tongue for your approval you find a swarm of butterflies living in the pit of your stomach. “Good nigh’, then, [Y/N].” 

“Good night, Captain.” 

“Edward.” 

“Pardon?” 

He leans over the taffrail with another laugh as he calls out to you, halfway below deck. “Ye can call me Edward. T’s’only fair, but only in private as well, mind. Or among friends.” 

The smile you give him is reciprocated in full when you nod this final time. “Good night, then, Edward.” 

“Good night.” 

You disappear below, the dim candlelight within leaving with you as you now make your way through the cabin beneath his feet. Thatch sighed as he turned back to the stars and chuckled lowly to himself. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair. “Some woman,” he told the pole star. 

That Star of the Sea, his companion on all these nights far from England, shone brighter among her sisters above the Queen Anne’s Revenge, almost, he thought, in agreement. 

_‘Aye_ ,’ whispered the star. ‘ _She’s some woman._ ’ 

**Author's Note:**

> me also love commas...


End file.
